


the seeds out of my heart

by awindingstair



Category: Friends at the Table (Podcast)
Genre: F/F, Season: Spring in Hieron, feat. women learning to communicate
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-01-27
Updated: 2019-01-27
Packaged: 2019-10-13 22:49:00
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,430
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17496848
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/awindingstair/pseuds/awindingstair
Summary: Hella has things to talk to Adelaide about, like their relationship, and her mistakes, and the way her hands feel when they touch.





	the seeds out of my heart

**Author's Note:**

  * For [GalaxyOwl](https://archiveofourown.org/users/GalaxyOwl/gifts).



> Set approximately between Spring in Hieron episodes 6-14.
> 
> They deserve a chance to really talk, don't you think? And kiss and stuff. Thank you in advance for reading. (And thanks to the prompter, who gave me an excuse to write what I wanted to read.)

The sun of Aubade is hot on Hella’s shoulders today. Her sturdy black and gold armor, as well-made as she has to admit it is, doesn’t help. It still traps the heat. The wind from the sea is a relief, even when it catches a strand of hair out of place and tickles her nose.

Adelaide, dressed more appropriately, is a few paces ahead, but slows. Her deep brown arms are bare. With an inexplicable modesty, Hella, passing her, tries to fix her eyes instead on her boots sending up puffs of dust, and then finally on her sloop. The _Boundless Fate_ rocks against its mooring, as eager as she is for the journey. They’re going to — what was it — the University. Or the moon. It doesn’t matter. What’s important is that they’re going, finally. Hella climbs aboard, scattering sand on the deck. And there's Adelaide following, as always. Smiling.

Adelaide enjoys teasing her, Hella has learned. Before Aubade, Hella would never have dared think of Adelaide wearing such revealing, _provocative_ outfits. Like this one, which clings to the shoulders, blue and filmy, and drapes improbably elsewhere. And there’s another dewy red apple in that perfectly-manicured hand. The Hella that once was would be tired of apples and all they represent by now. The Hella that _is_ , after four years in Aubade, doesn’t mind so much.

Four years ago, every time Adelaide got in Hella’s boat, she got this queasy tilt to her lips that she couldn’t quite hide with her sly little comments. Hella never said anything about it; she couldn’t figure out how to point out a weakness like that to a friend (was she a friend, back then?) who wasn’t Lem or Hadrian, who were basically helpless except under very specific circumstances. But now Adelaide walks onboard and leans on the railing with absolute ease. And it’s Hella whose stomach turns.

Adelaide’s one of the taller women Hella’s met in her life, although — ample comparison has shown — not as tall as Hella. She makes a nice image, leaning like that. Although Hella has to look out of the corner of her eye; the deck of the _Boundless Fate_ is big enough for several people to stand with their arms spread wide. It’s no Ordennan warship, but it’s more than enough for two. Still, she feels like Adelaide could reach out one hand and touch her, even as Hella busies herself with freeing the lines, attaching the sails, hoisting them. Quick work by now, pressed into muscle memory. She blinks and it’s done. And glances over — there’s Adelaide. Staying, even now.

She looks away. Words jump out of Hella’s mouth, the extension of a conversation they never had. “...I killed you.” Her face is aimed toward the tiller. She can imagine Adelaide’s crook-mouthed look, and she hurries to add, “I know you wanted me to. But why do you stick around? Don’t you think about it?” The memory is mostly ever in the back of her head, but she can still remember, through the dimming of blood loss, fear, and pain, how her own death felt. And Hella has seen the scar on Adelaide’s chest.

“I made mistakes. I would no more blame you for wielding your sword than a cornered panther for striking.” Her words are so even. Hella feels low.

“I’m not an animal,” she says, and rubs her thumb against the solidity of the knots in the rigging. She aims a look at Adelaide, a shadow on the rail. “I’m not —” she stops herself from saying _Fero_. “I mean... You aren’t either.”

For a moment she hears a voice, wafting on the wind. She can't quite make it out. What is it saying? _Sorry — go back to sleep — _it sounds like Lem, but it can't be.__

__Adelaide’s grip on the rail is hard. Her dark eyes flutter closed and then open, sharp with sudden awareness. There’s something in them that wasn’t there seconds ago. As if the queen had been dreaming until now._ _

____

Hella makes herself breathe. She turns to the sails. 

____

But the sloop tilts in the water, and she almost falls. It trims its own sails, tightening by turns, impatient. Turns out toward the sea with another lurch she rides out. Pulls its own tiller. Her head responds, thrumming with a low sound. 

____

“Oh, Hella.” Does she sound sad? Pitying? Before Hella can process it, Adelaide tilts her head, agreeing, “You are not an animal, and I am not either. I was a queen, and then a woman, and now, I am a queen again. Always…” She shifts as if about to step closer, but reclines on the wood of the ship instead. Giving Hella space, like you would do with an animal. No, she can’t _think_ like that — but she doesn’t want space. Not from Adelaide. If she did, she wouldn’t have taken on this task and this journey.

____

Even as Hella turns back toward her at last, Adelaide says, “Always because of you, my knight.” _Her knight._

____

_Adelaide’s knight._

____

_She is the sword of the queen of heaven._

____

The world clashes apart and reforms around them, the sloop and the freshwater river and the two women. Hella remembers now: the queen’s face reflected in her blade, the long stretch of shadows, the gleam of black opal. She’s dreaming; they both are. They can’t go back to Aubade anymore. Only forward.

____

The river — and it is a river, of course they’re not at sea anymore — is blackwater, and the evening light tints it gold. The apple is still in Adelaide’s hand, forgotten. Red. Hella touches it, and takes it gently from her, and bites. Snaps its flesh with her teeth. Some perversity makes her talk while there’s dream-apple left in her mouth. “What are you saying?”

____

“I can’t predict you anymore, Hella.” Her name comes out — soft. “I can’t control you. And I don’t _want_ to. I mean — ” Adelaide cuts herself off, fingers on her mouth, and the perfect arch of her brows draws together.

____

“That’s your way of complimenting me, huh.” Hella swallows. It’s all true, and almost too much to hear, but that it’s _not too much_ is what really makes her stomach clench. When Adelaide stumbles over human niceties, Hella — of all people surely the least qualified — only wants to teach her the steps.

____

“It’s not —” Adelaide looks almost frustrated. “You have a great deal of power over me, Hella, but you have always used it well.”

____

“Have I? I killed your brother.”

____

“He was your friend, too.”

____

_“That’s exactly what I mean!”_ People keep on forgiving her, and it’s not like Hella’s going to go and apologize to everyone she’s ever killed or will kill, but sometimes she thinks any normal person would be expected to feel guilty a little longer. Like, isn’t there something about putting things right? Is her service to Death making things even?

____

She wishes she knew how to make things simpler. Like how she always used to think, and like how Adaire seems to think now, where you just need to stack everything equal on both sides, and it doesn’t matter what happens in the subtraction.

____

“God, I miss Adaire.” Not what she meant to say. She huffs at herself, a snort of a breath. Lets her eyes fall on Adelaide: the color of her lips. The eyelid paint, bright above the cool brown of her eyes. The thick hair braided, pinned, folded into an intricate crown. It resists the wind caught by the sails of the _Boundless Fate._

____

She can see Adelaide’s hair is coilier than Hella’s, like so many Ordennan women’s. Hella almost reaches toward it, because it’s Adelaide’s, and because the design reminds her of home even though home isn’t much good anymore. But she doesn’t touch, because she respects Adelaide’s time, the time with mirrors and wigs and thread — though she wonders if a goddess, the queen of Adularia, even has to bother with all that.

____

Adelaide smiles at her — Hella can’t tell whether it’s a little wry or she’s just reading into it — and accepts the subject change — “Your thief does not like me much.”

____

“She’s not my thief. She’s her own person.” Hella shakes her head. “Maybe she’d like you more if you weren’t so rude.”

____

“You just _talked with your mouth full.”_

____

“So what? Picked the wrong knight?” Shit, shit, that came out too earnest, shit — 

____

“No.” Adelaide laughs, low in her throat. Hella’s heart thumps in pleased response. “I just don’t think Adaire values being polite. I’ve never seen her show any interest unless it wins her something.”

____

“Maybe not, but she’s a good judge of character,” Hella says, and Adelaide hums in response. She collects Hella’s hand in hers — as always, her palms are soft, so much softer than Hella’s. Presses her mouth chastely to the callused knuckles of her knight.

____

Hella sighs, closes her eyes. She forces her breath and heart to steady. If that’s supposed to be a distraction, she’s not that easily swayed. “Better than me, anyway.” 

____

That makes Adelaide look up at her, one eyebrow raised doubtfully.

____

“She is.” Hella pulls her hand away and ignores the sulky way Adelaide crosses her arms.

____

“You mean if she were here, she’d reject me.”

____

“No. That’s not — I don’t know, that’s not what I meant.” Hella looks away, out toward the bank of Lem’s river, a mess of mud and tree roots, unstable ground. Hard to climb, hard to walk. “Maybe it’s not _character_ , exactly. She knows how to talk to people. She has ideals, even if they’re — hard. And she knows when people measure up to them, and when they don’t.”

____

Adelaide sighs, arms untwisting, and reaches to take the apple again. Hella lets her have it. “You have ideals too. Don’t let that small-minded millstone of an Eternal Prince tell you otherwise.”

____

It takes a moment for Hella to understand who she means, and then she snorts in amusement and some other, gentler emotion. “Trust me. I know when to take Hadrian seriously or not.”

____

“Then also recognize you have more strengths than he ever could.” After a smirk in her direction, Adelaide pulls out a small, delicate knife from somewhere — her outfit can’t possibly fit pockets, but then this is a dream. The knife is tiny, not enough to even cut a person. She begins slicing the apple using the wooden railing as a support. 

____

Hella is reminded suddenly, precipitously, of Calhoun. She doesn’t say so. But at least remembering hurts less than it used to.

____

Four pieces of apple are deposited on Hella’s palm. She eats two, and watches Adelaide eat half of a slice, leaving a touch of the color on her lips on the white insides. “Finish that, or I will,” Hella warns, but Adelaide slips it into her mouth, turning away. The woman chews, swallows, and hides a surprising giggle before she looks back at Hella.

____

Adelaide is gorgeous. She has crafted her dress and face and body to be so. She is steeped in the beauty of ritual. But in this moment, it’s not just that. It’s her laugh, the near-invisible smudge on her bottom lip, her hand moving to rest on Hella’s shoulder. All of it together prompts a feeling of gratitude and — protectiveness? loyalty? she can’t name it — to scatter through Hella’s core brighter than starstuff.

____

She leans forward, careful. Adelaide’s gaze rests on Hella’s mouth, before it finds her eyes. Hella looks back, never having felt the need to avert her gaze from anyone. They are in agreement.

____

Their lips meet. It is warm and firm, and tastes familiarly of apple. Hella would normally kiss her longer, but now doesn’t seem like the right time. She tilts her head away, and Adelaide willingly breaks off, earrings jangling.

____

There is lip color on Hella’s mouth, she knows from experience. “My queen,” she says, voice a little husky.

____

Adelaide’s eyelids fall slightly, and her cold hand slips under Hella’s armor to touch her shoulder blade. “Believe me. You have many strengths.”

____

Hella stares at Adelaide for a second, face a little hot. Was that supposed to be a compliment on her _kissing_? They’ve done more than that before.

____

“I know?” she says dizzily.

____

Adelaide huffs, resting her forehead over Hella’s clavicle. Murmurs, “That was not supposed to be an innuendo.”

____

They both pause.

____

“We’re bad at this,” Hella realizes. “We are just the fucking worst at this.” She laughs a little, rubbing at her face with one hand. The other hand lands on the nape of Adelaide’s neck.

____

Adelaide raises her head again. “We can work at it,” she says, her voice light, but her fingertips still tracing Hella’s shoulder. “I know you’re not one for ceremonies, but the traditional vows in Nacre, at least, stress patience.”

____

Hella asks sarcastically, “Between _liege and vassal?_ ” Despite the territory of the conversation, she feels calm now. She knows what Adelaide will say, and she has always liked certainty.

____

“Actually, yes — but I meant the marriage vows.” She’s definitely wry.

____

“I know,” says Hella, and her laugh this time shakes her whole body, and Adelaide’s too. She can see Adelaide’s eyes crinkle at the corners. They’re both smiling. _You tease._

____

“You’ll do well, my knight. My Hella Veral.”

____

They eat the rest of the apple, one bite at a time, as Lem’s river hisses them along. The sun begins to set. The twin moons, Del and Bri, glint low and huge and heavy in the darkening sky, almost too close. The air is cool now, and Hella wonders if Adelaide is cold in her sleeveless dress. But they’re both quiet, not needing to speak. Hella thinks, briefly, about apologies. She never tried to make them until Aubade. She doesn’t think Adelaide ever did either. But it’s all right. They can learn together, in the time they have left.

____

Adelaide gently takes hold of the hilt of Hella’s sword, and then Hella adds her hands and unsheathes it. She keeps the point and the edge angled away from them. It’s a weapon, even in a dream. But it’s bright, instead of shadowy as it is in the daytime, and Hella can almost make out Chapter’s protections burning in the blade.

____

Adelaide touches the fuller, and then Hella’s chin, with her elegant fingers. Her mouth is light on Hella’s. Hella feels the thing in her heart like starstuff flare alongside the gleam deep in her sword. It carries her up. 

____

As she wakes, she promises both Adelaide and herself: _I_ will _do well, my queen — no, my_ Adelaide.

____


End file.
